


it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

by zombiejuju



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Accidents, Alcohol, Amnesia, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Central City Police Department, Christmas, Christmas Eve, ColdFlash Secret Santa, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Engagement, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Lies, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Marriage Proposal, Minor Violence, Rehabilitation, S.T.A.R. Labs, Sappy, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Amnesia, Undercover, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiejuju/pseuds/zombiejuju
Summary: “What is it now, Red?” Snart asks. He doesn’t turn around. His voice doesn’t lilt with its usual patronizing edge. He just slouches over the bar and knocks back a shot of something clear.“Straight to the point then,” Barry agrees, sliding onto a stool to the left of Snart. They don’t make real eye contact, just watch each other’s faces in the mirror behind the shelves of alcohol, “Standard bad guy. Elusive. No powers.”“And you need my help why?”





	1. undercover Flash business has never been so fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rili](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rili/gifts).



> Mr. Peripheral is definitely a reference to old school Penguin. The title has nothing to do with chapter one, has a little to do with chapter two, and is mostly a nod at the fact that this is for a gift exchange; and that it's December and my little toes are frozen.

Barry stands beneath the neon sign of Saints and Sinners, glaring at it as he sighs, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his corduroy jeans. He rolls his head down and to the side to fasten his cruel expression on the bar’s front entrance. He doesn’t want to be here and the dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach is enough to almost encourage him to turn around and rush home. Inside, he knows he’ll find Leonard Snart in a corner booth. 

Barry's been here before; desperate and naive enough to trust Snart to do the right thing when it comes down to it. Of course, Snart, a notorious criminal, betrayed him. So why was he back again?

Barry’s reverie distracts him long enough for his feet to drag him into the bar. He’s hovering behind Snart, brooding near the other man’s shoulder. Without seeing Snart’s face, he can tell the man is about to open his mouth and say something snarky.

“I know I’m an idiot for asking,” Barry says. He removes Snart’s power, his opportunity to initiate their little dance, “But I’m desperate— _again—_ and I need your help.”

“What is it now, Red?” Snart asks. He doesn’t turn around. His voice doesn’t lilt with its usual patronizing edge. He just slouches over the bar and knocks back a shot of something clear.

“Straight to the point then,” Barry agrees, sliding onto a stool to the left of Snart. They don’t make real eye contact, just watch each other’s faces in the mirror behind the shelves of alcohol, “Standard bad guy. Elusive. No powers.”

“And you need my help why?”

“Well, like I said, he’s _elusive_. S.T.A.R. Labs can’t get a hold on him, cops don’t even know he exists. Dude’s practically a ghost. Rich. Paying away his problems.”

“Sounds like there isn’t a criminal. How did you even hear about him?”

“Reports. Murmurs.”

“People are fucking with you.”

“These _people_ sound pretty scared.”

“The boogeyman isn’t real, kid.”

“Mr. Peripheral.”

“What?”

“That’s what they’re calling him. Mr. Peripheral.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always just out of sight.”

“Ominous,” Snart says. He rolls his eyes, smacks the countertop with one hand, and watches as his shot glass is refilled. He shoots it down, “I’ll bite. What do I have to do?”

“Going off a rumor here, so bare with me. He’s going to be at the gala thing tonight. Unfortunately, it’s a cover for the criminal elite to congregate. That’s where you come in.”

“Yeah, I got that part. Get to it.”

“I need you to get me in.”

“That’s it?”

“And be my backup.”

“There it is. Trying to get me to fight crime with you again. Stop with that shit, Scarlet.”

Barry spins on his stool, body coming to face Snart’s profile. He clasps his hands under his chin, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, eyes big and wide.

Snart turns his head to look at Barry, chin resting on his own shoulder, “You look ridiculous.”

“I don’t care. I need your help.”

Snart reaches out and places a gloved hand between their faces, “Stop it. I’ll help you.”

“Wow, I didn’t think that’d actually work. Someone secretly a big softy? I knew there was…”

“Don’t,” Snart drops his hand back onto the bar top, head swiveling back around to watch Barry’s reflection again, “Go as my date.”

Barry bursts out laughing, head slumping back. It’s unpleasant, tittering and nervous. Snart’s subtle squirm catches in the corner of Barry’s vision. He stops laughing and watches Snart through the mirror.

“You’re not kidding?”

“They all know you’re a cop.”

“Forensic scientist.”

“A cop is a cop. You need to make them think you’re just as dirty as them. The easiest way to do that…”

“Is by convincing them I’m dating a well known criminal on the down low?”

“Exactly,” Snart replies, too eager, before tapping the counter with his leather clad palm. The bartender walks over and sloshes more liquid into his shot glass. Snart grips it once it’s filled and gulps it down.

“I...guess that makes sense,” Barry says, eyes scanning side to side as if he’s solving an equation in his mind.

“ _And_ it’ll get Lisa off my back.”

“What?”

“She won’t get off my case about dating. I don’t want to date,” Snart says. He stands and drops a twenty on the bar, “I have one love.”

“Is it crime?”

Snart flings his leather jacket over his shoulder and pointedly doesn’t answer Barry as they exit bar together.

* * *

“You and me need to talk right now,” Joe says as Barry is stepping into a limousine sent to pick him up. He grasps Barry’s forearm and tugs him over to a mailbox in front of the precinct, “What is all of _this_?”

Barry’s right eyebrow quirks at Joe’s vague hand gestures. He looks down at his own attire: a sapphire suit accented with a black button up, shiny dress shoes, and a cobalt tie. He looks...nice. Tall, dark, and handsome. Snart has good taste. For a villain. He fusses with the cufflinks on his sleeve before glancing back up at Joe.

“I’m going undercover.”

“You’re not that kind of cop, Barr.”

“Not as a cop. As,” Barry’s voice drops to a low whisper, “the Flash.”

“Alright, okay. So what’s the plan? Who are you working with? Why are you dressed like that? What’s with the limo?” Joe’s hand swings toward the idling vehicle.

“Find Mr. Peripheral at the Gala. Snart. Also Snart. _And_ Snart again.”

“Are you stupid? Snart can’t be trusted. He’s screwed you over before.”

“It’s the only way.”

Joe sighs, his sudden tired expression betraying his age. He rubs a hand over his face and stalls a moment, “Alright, okay. You should at least have one of us back you up.”

“You’ll blow my cover.”

“Is that what Snart told you?”

“It doesn’t matter who said it, Joe. It’s the truth,” Barry glares defiantly into Joe’s eyes and Joe can feel his hair turning gray at all this dangerous, shady Flash business.

* * *

The gala happens inside the Central City Museum. Barry walks in with his arm locked around Snart’s, a blush creeping down his cheeks and over his jaw until it distorts near his clavicle. Snart is making strained small talk with some other kingpins, towing Barry around as he moves from group to group. It’s the fanciest event Barry’s ever been too and, despite the fact that Snart is yanking him around like a prize show dog, he’s glad for Snart taking control tonight. Without him, Barry would be miserably underdressed and drowning in a sea of his actual enemies.

Snart shoves a champagne flute into Barry’s hand and he eagerly accepts it. It’s a nervous habit, an ineffectual drug synonymous with security blankets. He looks around as he sips at it, noting quite a few prominent criminals; high on the list of “most wanted” at the CCPD. He steadies himself: he’s here for one particular criminal, not to take down all the evil in their little world. Most of the patrons attending the gala are known to Barry, except for two.

Barry slides his hand from Snart’s elbow to his fingers and holds them in his palm, giving them a light squeeze. It’s odd, and miniscule in the grand scheme of things, but Barry realizes that Snart’s hands are comfortably warm despite lacking their usual protection.

The change in position earns Snart’s attention. He rolls his head to the side to observe Barry, “What is it, Red?”

“Don’t call me that. At least not here.”

“Okay, Barry,” Snart says, voice low and husky, “What do you need?”

Barry squirms in response, flushing in embarrassment at his own reaction, and hopes Snart doesn’t notice. Snart smirks in return, earning an eye roll from Barry. He leans close to Snart, whispering in his ear, warm breath heating up the skin on Snart’s jaw.

“There’s two guys that I don’t recognize. Maybe we should split up and follow them.”

“Yeah, because that’s not suspicious or anything. Point them out to me.”

Barry pulls away, aware of his own reluctance, and points to a man glancing wearily around the room. Barry can tell this lanky, scrawny man is getting ready to steal something from the museum. Something very expensive sitting behind a glass case. Barry is sure there are motion sensors around it.

“Kid,” Snart whispers into Barry’s ear, breath ghosting over his neck. Barry drops his ear to his shoulder, shivering and trying to rub the sensation away, “Do you really think someone liked the alleged Mr. Peripheral would get his own hands dirty?”

“You’re right, I guess,” Barry’s head snaps toward the second floor, to the balcony where patrons can overlook the main lobby. He nods his head at a man watching them, “What about him?”

Snart glares at Barry’s profile for a second before following his gaze. A short, wide, balding man is indeed staring them down. He reminds Snart of a penguin, “Now that _is_ strange.”

“So I’m guessing you don’t know who he is either.”

Snart nods, lacing his fingers with Barry’s and tightening his hold. He drags Barry toward the staircase.

Barry’s head lags behind his body as it snaps forward, forced to ascend the staircase. As he and Snart come closer, the well dressed sea creature abandons his post and retracts into the shadows of an employees only side room, leaving the entrance open for them.

“I think we just lost the element of surprise,” Barry says once they stop on the landing. He’s too winded for a man who rushes around Central City at the speed of light.

“That happened the moment you locked eyes with him, Barry. He knows we’re on to him. We need to throw him off our trail.”

“How do we—?” Barry’s interrupted by Snart tossing him against the wall beside the door. He’s floored by the collision, “You can’t do that. I can break through walls without being hurt. Do you know how suspicious that would look? Everybody would know who I am, and you’d be breaking our deal.”

Snart shoots a glare at him before pressing a finger to his own lips, effective in hushing Barry. He peers into the darkness of the employees only room and Barry, hazy in the shock of being manhandled by Snart, notices that the other man looks elegant in his frosty white suit. The blue tie complements the older man’s eyes. Barry’s going to blame it on the dim lighting of the second floor and Snart’s gentle profile.

“There’s no way for him to get out without passing us again,” Snart says, returning his attention to Barry. But Barry’s just staring at him, “What?”

“Nothing,” Barry answers too quick, “Okay, so. Stakeout.”

“Yeah,” Snart agrees. He lays his back against the wall, beside Barry, and stares over to the other side of the indoor balcony.

“But how do we do this without freaking that guy out more? We can’t wait here all night.”

“Sick of my company already?”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just, we look suspicious up here. Not doing anything.”

“I have an idea,” Snart says, pushing away from the wall. He moves in front of Barry and cups his jaw, thumb caressing Barry’s cheek and fingers splaying behind his ear. The other hand comes to rest on Barry’s left shoulder, chest touching Barry’s own to hold him in place. 

Barry heart starts racing, making him vibrate under Snart’s touch and blur in his vision. Snart closes the distance between them and presses their lips together. Barry can’t remember the last time he kissed someone; or, even better, someone initiated a kiss with him. He’s been hopelessly in love with Iris since forever and after a while, he gave up trying to be with anyone else. Barry thinks that it’s not so bad, kissing Snart.

Despite the little voices in his head egging him on, Barry pushes Snart away. This is weird. Wrong. Unacceptable. But...Snart’s lips were surprisingly smooth and soft, tasting like mint and chocolate when he had swiped his tongue over Snart’s plump bottom lip.

“What was that?”

“It’s called ‘avoiding suspicion’. Two people, on a date, went upstairs to be alone,” Snart explains, eyes roving over Barry’s expression. Barry nods, a bit dumb, lost in a haze.

Snart licks his lips and dives back in, harsher now. He gets his teeth around Barry’s bottom lip and worries it, dragging it out before releasing it. A gasp on Barry’s part gives Snart the opportunity to dart his tongue into Barry’s mouth, tip of it flicking against Barry’s own before gliding over the roof of his mouth and kissing at his teeth.

Snart’s nails scrape down the sides of Barry’s neck, down under the collar of his dress shirt, onto the flesh of his shoulders. Barry ruts into Snart, too keyed up now to remember that they’re on a mission or that he’s kissing Captain Cold for fuck’s sake.

Glass shatters in the employees only room as Snart’s hands retreat from inside Barry’s shirt and run down his front, fingers making their way to Barry’s belt and wrapping around them. Barry shakes Snart off, rushing toward the sound. A window in the break room is broken, glass crunching beneath Barry’s feet. Their suspect lands on the ground with a thud, lays dazed for a moment, then rolls up into a standing position and lumbers away.

“Relax,” Snart says, coming up behind Barry and resting his chin on Barry’s shoulder. He snakes his arms around Barry’s middle, torso pressed to Barry’s back, “He isn’t Mr. Peripheral. Mr. Peripheral doesn’t exist.”

“How do you know that?” Barry asks. He watches as their stalker flees at a pathetic pace.

“Because no self respecting crime boss would let themselves be called Mr. Peripheral.”

Barry snorts and turns into Snart’s embrace, skin heating up from his cheeks to his collarbones at the intimacy of it, “Yeah. It was kind of stupid. But keep an eye out?”

“Sure. Fine. Why not? Better give me your number, you know, in case anything pops up.”

Barry rolls his eyes and detangles himself from Snart’s arms. Snart scowls but backs away, giving Barry space.

“Yeah, okay. Gimme your phone,” Barry says, bringing Snart’s trademark smirk back.

* * *

Len climbs the stairs to his penthouse apartment, suit jacket slung over his shoulder. He’s gloating, smug smirk on his face and stormy eyes brightened by excitement. He arrives at his front door and retrieves the key from his pocket, only to find that the door budges open at the smallest force. He swings the door open, braced for whatever’s on the other side, and comes face to face with Lisa’s Golden Glider gun.

“Oh, thank fuck. It’s just you,” Lisa says, sliding her gun back into her hip holster.

“Not that I don’t think you can handle yourself, _sis_ , but don’t leave the door unlocked when you’re home alone.”

“Aw, my overprotective big brother,” Lisa pauses, bringing her hands down to grip her own hips, “So, how was your date? Did you get his number? Are you going out again?”

Len rolls his eyes as Lisa follows him to the kitchenette, close on his heels like a sheep dog. He pours himself a glass of whiskey under her prying eyes and chugs it before locking eyes with her, “Okay. _Jesus_ . It wasn’t a real date, but I did get his number and we _might_ be going out again.”

“Cool, cool,” Lisa says, downplaying her own exhilaration by giving him two brief nods and looking away. She feigns glaring out a distant window in thought and puts flat palms on the countertop, “So. I need, like, 5k.”

Len spits whiskey out like a fountain, honey brown specks bedewing Lisa’s left cheek, “What? Why?”

“How do you think I got you on a date with your celebrity crush, the Flash?”

“You’re not supposed to know that.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it.”

“I’d be a terrible sister if I didn’t. But I’m the best sister, so I did.”

“How did you work this out?” Len asks, filling his glass with whiskey again.

“I hired some people, gave the Flash a juicy scoop he couldn’t resist. Lots of false tips mostly. It was easier than I thought it’d be. Tell your boo he got played.”

“Why did you hire someone to play Mr. Peripheral?” Len asks. He grimaces at the stupid name, “It distracted from the ‘date’ part.”

“Well if Barry didn’t find what he was looking for, he would’ve left too soon. That weirdo kept him around long enough — for once — to realize that you’re not so bad. That you’re great, actually,” Lisa comes to Len’s side, leaning in for a half hug.

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Len doesn’t hug her back but makes no move to push her away, “But thanks.”

Lisa removes herself from him and hums in response. She disappears from their shared living space, probably into the guest room she’s taken as her own. Len takes this opportunity to retrieve his phone from the pocket of his slacks and text Barry. It’s a weak excuse to talk to him more, but it’s all he’s for the moment:

_ Got proof Mr. Peripheral isn’t real. Call me. - L _


	2. not quite amnesia, more like a dark curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He hit his head and appears to have amnesia,” Caitlin answers. She flips the magnetic cover onto the tablet’s screen and rests the device beside Barry’s leg. Her hands move to encircle her hips, watching Barry with curiosity.
> 
> “Didn’t know it was that easy to beat you, Scarlet. Here I was making elaborate plans to win our games.”
> 
> “It’s not that simple,” Caitlin says, shaking her head. She puts her hands on either side of Barry’s head and tugs it down. Using her fingertips to pull apart his hair, she reveals a long gash on his scalp, “A meta threw him halfway across the city into a pile of concrete scraps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Heteronormativity is briefly alluded to. Lewis Snart and his heinous ways are mentioned. There's a weird A/B/O comment. Minor control stuff. Minor consent issues. Mentions of past child abuse. Temper issues. Minor character death.

Len saunters into S.T.A.R. Labs, Cold Gun fastened to his right hip and parka swishing around him. He thinks it’s going to be a fairly normal day. He’ll see Barry, flirt shamelessly with him in front of everyone, Barry will blush and deny that anything is going on, and then they’ll do some stupid mission for the Greater Good.

Except, Barry is sitting on the medical table, holding an icepack to his temple. Caitlin clutches a tablet, left heel tapping rhythmically against the linoleum tiles, bottom lip worrying between rows of pearly white teeth. Len starts to rush over but then remembers himself: he’s not _actually_ supposed to care about the Flash. This is just supposed to be some stupid rehabilitation program or something. He strolls over instead, shucking his parka off his shoulders and folding it over his left arm.

Barry wants to ask who the douchebag wearing a huge parka is but the words catch in his throat as he glances up and takes a good look at said douchebag. He’s beautiful. Which is strange, Barry recognizes, because some part of him knows men aren’t supposed to be _pretty_.

“Who’s this?” Barry asks. His hand darts out to touch Mr. Parka’s face faster than he can tell himself no.

“Leonard Snart,” Caitlin answers, “Although we used to call him Captain Cold, courtesy of Cisco’s naming prowess and Snart's old ways.”

Barry’s palm wraps around _Len’s_ face, fingers tucking behind the other man’s ear and thumb caressing over the smooth, creamy skin on Len’s cheek. He stares into Len’s eyes, chilled by the stony blueness of them. His index finger moves to touch the freckle near Len’s hairline, thumb tracing the sharp ridge of Snart’s jaw as it makes its way over to the other man’s plump, moistened lips. He feels like he’s done this before.

Len does his best to bite back a gasp triggered by Barry’s intense gaze and gentle hands. Barry is _not_ supposed to do this while they’re at work. Len’s straight and narrow eyebrows collapse over his eyes, glazing his statuesque features with a harshness. Barry lets go of Len’s face and slides his palm down to Len’s shoulders. They’re...nice. Slender and delicate like the rest of his frame. He’s not as bulky as his outfit makes him look.

“You’re a soft boy. I like you,” Barry says. He grasps Len’s shoulder and looks up at him in wonder, “Don’t be sad. Smile!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Len asks, knocking Barry’s hand away. Barry pouts, doing his best impersonation of a kicked puppy, “I thought he couldn’t get drunk.”

“He hit his head and appears to have amnesia,” Caitlin answers. She flips the magnetic cover onto the tablet’s screen and rests the device beside Barry’s leg. Her hands move to encircle her hips, watching Barry with curiosity.

“Didn’t know it was that easy to beat you, Scarlet. Here I was making elaborate plans to win our games.”

“It’s not that simple,” Caitlin says, shaking her head. She puts her hands on either side of Barry’s head and tugs it down. Using her fingertips to pull apart his hair, she reveals a long gash on his scalp, “A meta threw him halfway across the city into a pile of concrete scraps.”

Barry shakes Caitlin off and sits up straight, eyes returning to Len. He bats his eyes at the older man, hands folded in his lap. Len scoffs and in the back of Barry’s mind, he knows this isn’t _exactly_ right. He remembers those weird romance novels he used to read as a teen, the one where the omega preens for the alpha. And, _oh_ , that’s exactly what he’s doing.

“Are we...together?” Barry asks. He tilts his head to the side, examining Len.

“Actually, you’re enemies,” Caitlin interrupts, doing her part to save Len from what she thinks will be an awkward conversation.

“No, that’s not right,” Barry says. He grabs Len’s hand in his own and stares at it. Fingers dance over Len’s calloused flesh before Barry joins their hands together, fingers lacing.

“Well, no. It’s not,” Caitlin corrects herself, “You’re frenemies. Neither really wants to hurt the other but there’s betrayal and a long, complicated history.”

“And now?” Barry asks.

“Now, he works with us so long as we don’t try to change his wicked ways,” Caitlin picks up her tablet and turns to exit the medical examination room. Over her shoulder, she says, “I trust you won’t let anything too terrible happen to him.”

“I’m glad she’s gone,” Barry says, dropping the icepack onto the tabletop the moment the door clicks shut behind Caitlin. He drops down from the table and leans toward Len. Wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, he brings his lips close to Len’s ear, “She’s nice and smart but she doesn’t know _everything_ , does she?”

“I thought you lost your memory,” Len replies, worming his hands between them and placing his palms against Barry’s chest to ease them away from each other.

“I have, I think. But I know you’re important to me and I want to know how.”

“Like Caitlin said. Enemies to frenemies to friends.”

“To lovers?” Barry asks. He sounds so hopeful that it makes Len’s chest feel like it’s squirming.

“Sure, kid,” Len pats Barry on the back and detangles himself from Barry’s arms, “C’mon, let’s find out what Caitlin wants to do with you.”

* * *

Turns out Caitlin just wants to send Barry home and, for some strange reason, she wants Len to escort him there. She assures Len that it’s just to make sure Barry doesn’t do anything stupid with his metahuman powers when he can’t remember to be careful. Len wants to argue but nods instead, spending the entire trek to the Wests’ house wondering why Caitlin trusts him all of a sudden and, _shit_ , if she’s starting to suspect that something _is_ going on between him and Barry.

Len thinks he’s gotten Barry safely inside without a hitch but ends up chiding himself for his early and misplaced optimism as he turns around and comes face to face with Joe West.

“What are you doing in my home? What did you do to Barry?”

Len lets his eyes flutter closed, clenches his jaw, grits his teeth. His eyes open, slow, and he puts his hands up. He’s _not_ starting a fight with the detective. Not today. Life is hard enough as it is; is getting harder, apparently.

“Do you think I’d really bring him back to you if I had done something to him?”

“Barr?” Joe asks, leaning around Len’s head to look at Barry.

“Caitlin says a metahuman threw me into bricks or something,” Barry mumbles out, hand reaching up to hold the back of his head, “What’s a metahuman and shouldn’t I be dead?”

“ _Now_ you’re asking those questions?” Len asks, right eyebrow quirking as he turns to glare at Barry.

“What? I had more pressing questions,” Barry says. He lowers his hand and tosses a wink Len’s way. Len and Joe both groan.

“What’s wrong with him?” Joe asks.

“What makes you think anything’s wrong with him?” Len’s arms droop back down to his side.

“Is Iris cooking chicken?” Barry asks, sniffing at the air. Len mimics him. A pleasant, spiced aroma is permeating to them from the kitchen. It seems. Len wouldn’t know. He’s definitely never been here before.

Joe nods, “And mashed potatoes.”

“Yes!” Barry grabs Len’s hand and tugs him toward the dining room, “You’re staying for dinner.”

* * *

Dinner with the Wests is...awkward to say the least. Barry refuses to sit next to Iris or Joe and insists on sitting next to Len. Iris and Joe alternate between glaring at Len and shooting expressions of concern at Barry. Barry keeps complimenting Len and touching him every chance he gets.

“Barr, are you okay?” Iris asks, using a fork to play with the mashed potatoes on her plate.

Barry hums at her and nods before turning his body three-fourths of the way toward Len. He rests his open hand on Len’s closed fist, “Tell me how we met.”

“He tried to steal a diamond. Then tried to kill a train full of people,” Joe says, “He messed with you because you’re a good guy and he’s not.”

Barry nods, distracted, but doesn’t move his attention away from Len’s face, “Tell me about how we fell in love.”

Iris chokes on her wine and Len can feel his body collapsing in on itself, cheeks bursting in flames of embarrassment. He plays the game as best he can, straightening his posture and sliding his hand out from beneath Barry’s to wrap his fingers around the stem of a wine glass and take a sip.

“We’re not.”

“But…”

“Okay,” Iris interrupts, smacking her hands against the wooden tabletop. Eyes sparkling with kindness and tone quiet, she says, “Let’s get you upstairs for bed. Maybe you need to sleep this off.”

“I want Len to take me,” Barry says when Iris stands up and starts to round the long table.

“I don’t think...” Iris starts but snaps her mouth shut as her father raises his hand. She wants to protest but there’s a calm authority on Joe’s face, and something intuitive gliding around in his brown eyes.

“Goodnight, guys,” Barry says, standing and dragging Len with him to the staircase.

“Goodnight, Barr,” Iris and Joe say, in unison, to his retreating form.

“What did I just miss?” Iris asks loud enough for Len to hear it from the upstairs landing. Everything after that is hushed whispers and Len wonders just how many people his relationship with Barry is going to be outed to by a bout of amnesia.

* * *

“Tell me how we fell in love,” Barry demands when they’re alone in his old bedroom. The door is locked and Barry’s family is still downstairs. Len knows that doesn’t mean they’re really safe. He kneels down, joints popping and aching, and unties Barry’s boots before tugging them off, “Or do you just undress all of your enemies?”

“I undress all of my enemies.”

“Bullshit,” Barry says, scowling.

“What do you want to hear, kid?”

“The truth,” Barry says. He throws his legs onto the bed and leans on his elbows for support. Len sighs and climbs onto the comforter too, laying on his side near Barry.

“My sister, Lisa, set us up. She tricked you into thinking you needed me to beat a bad guy that didn’t exist. It landed me a date and you had a good time. She told me the truth, then I confessed to you. My candor impressed you, earned me another date.”

“I fell for that?”

“You’re blinded by your own do-good nature.”

“Tell me about...our first time,” Barry adjusts, moving toward Len and trying to discreetly breach his personal space.

“What makes you think we’ve had sex?”

“Look at us. There’s no way we’re _not_ having sex,” Barry grins at his own flirtation before his lips morph into a grim line of seriousness, “How long did I pretend I wasn’t dying to jump your bones?”

“Scarlet, you can’t really be thinking about how to get me naked at a time like this. You have amnesia.”

“I still have my basic instincts,” Barry pauses, then slips even closer to Len and waggles his eyebrows, “C’mon.”

“We don’t,” Len moves away, back landing near the edge of Barry’s bed, “You want to wait until marriage.”

Barry’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “Wait. I’m a 28 year old virgin?”

“No. I’m just fucking with you. Of course we’ve had sex.”

Barry makes a sound that Len refuses to believe is a sigh of relief, “So. Tell me about our first time, then.”

Len considers just how dangerous it is to expose information about someone’s life to them when they’ve forgotten it. In this strange new metahuman filled Central City, anything is possible. Could it be like telling someone in the past about their future? Part of him doesn’t care about the consequences, though. He wants some semblance of _Barry_ back.

“Right before we started dating, I told you that my one love was crime. It only took a couple of months for you to change that.”

“You...told me you loved me?”

Len rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, hands clasped over the hem of his shirt. His gaze shifts from star to star on the glowing plastic galaxy adorning the top of Barry’s childhood bedroom.

“It was after one of our grander dates. Dressed you up in an expensive—not stolen—suit and brought you to the bistro in a limousine. I’m going to blame my confession on too much wine. But after I told you I loved you, your clothes practically evaporated under my touch.”

Barry blushes, “I sound easy.”

“You are,” Len smirks.

“I don’t want to be stuck like this,” Barry says, tone so sad it paralyzes Len and weakens his defenses. He lets Barry snuggle up to his side and toss his leg over Len’s hip. Barry nuzzles against Len’s neck and presses his lips to the skin there, “Tell me more about our relationship.”

“It’s...surprisingly good,” Len starts. Barry perks up at this, “But it’s a secret. You have to stop acting like this. Your friends and family, they wouldn’t understand.”

Barry deflates and tugs himself back away from Len, far enough to look him in the eyes, “Who decided that: me or you?”

“Me.”

“Yeah, I knew that. Even with amnesia, I knew that,” Barry shuffles until he’s on his back, far from Len, “Because with the way I feel right now, even when I don’t remember, how could I ever want to keep you a secret?”

“I don’t want to keep you a secret,” Len can’t believe he’s fighting with Barry about a relationship Barry isn’t capable of remembering, “It’s just for the best.”

“For how long? How long were we planning to lie to everyone we know?”

“Lisa knows,” Len isn’t even sure how many people are still in the dark about their relationship after Barry’s odd behavior. Cisco is probably all that’s left, “Just go to bed, Barry. We’re not talking about this anymore.”

Barry huffs and rolls onto his side, back turned to Len, “You know, I might not remember but the feelings are still there. Safety. Warmth. Protection. I know you take care of me, even if I can’t remember how.”

* * *

Barry is in the examination room with Cisco and Caitlin, trying to figure out how to bring back his memories or at least offer a calculation for when his memories will return of their own volition. Iris comes up beside Len and wraps thin, knobby fingers taut around his elbow and yanks him into a nearby room. Len hasn’t been in here a lot but, from the looks of it, this room used to serve as some kind of chemicals lab.

“What do you think you’re doing with Barry?” Iris asks. The door hasn’t even slammed shut before she stands in front of him, towering even in her small frame with a fierce, protective glint in her eyes and hands clutching her own hips.

Len sighs and runs a calloused hand over his buzzcut. He wants to deflect, express his surprise at Iris confronting him before Papa Joe, but he knows avoiding her question won’t get him anywhere. She’s smart and tough. She is a journalist _and_ Detective West’s daughter, after all. A lethal combination.

“You’ve been playing like he’s confused but he’s not, is he?” Iris asks. Her defenses drop at the sparkle of sincerity in Len’s eyes when he shakes his head, avoiding her gaze, “Why did it take amnesia for him to tell us about you?”

Barry opens the door and enters the chemicals room during her question, “Supposedly, _we_ agreed that people wouldn’t understand and it’d be best to keep it a secret for a while.”

“How long has ‘a while’ been?”

Len grimaces, shoulders tensed as he stares at Barry’s charred Converse, “A year.”

“A year!” Iris repeats, jabbing a finger into Barry’s sternum.

“Ow,” Barry laughs, shaking his head. He intertwines his fingers with Len’s and tugs him out of the room.

* * *

 

Len figures he might not have _his_ Barry back but he’s going to do everything in his power to make _this_ Barry happy, especially since this Barry seems so keen on sticking to Len like glue. If he just tells Cisco, Caitlin, and—he gulps at the thought—Joe, then his life with Amnesiac Barry will be that much easier.

Iris, Cisco, Caitlin, and Joe sit huddled around a sapphire coffee table. Three of them are crammed together on a lavender loveseat, terrified because—for the first time—they’re inside the apartment Len _sometimes_ shares with Barry. Iris isn’t as nervous, sitting by herself on a pastel pink recliner and cradling a paper to-go cup from Jitters in her palms. Len considers just how gay their apartment looks and curses himself for asking Lisa to decorate just because he didn’t know how to make a place look like home.

Len moves his attention from face to face, taking in three matching sets of wide, confused eyes and mouths stunned into straight lipped frowns. Joe is leaning forward, ass hanging off the edge of the couch and elbows digging into his own bent knees. Caitlin doesn’t look _as_ spooked as the other two, but she is clutching onto Joe’s shoulder with all ten digits, knuckles turned a hot white. Cisco appears to be fighting every jumping nerve in his body, every call to leap into Joe’s lap for protection.

“We have something to tell you guys,” Barry starts. He’s biting his bottom lip in excitement, grin taunting the corners of his mouth.

“This is terrible timing, Barr,” Iris says, placing her cup on the table near her legs, “Maybe wait until you have your memory back, yeah?”

“If I wait, I’ll never get the chance to say this again,” Barry pauses, nods to himself once, and slides his fidgeting hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, “We’re together.”

“Who’s together?” Cisco asks.

“Barry and Snart,” Joe confirms, voice tilted as if _he_ can’t even believe what he’s saying.

“I calculated this already,” Caitlin says. She breathes a sigh of relief, it could be worse, and slips away from Joe’s side, “He acted so strange during his initial examination. I knew it couldn’t have just been a side effect.”

Cisco stares at Barry like he has two thousand eyeballs connected to his head by antennas, “I’m totally surprised! But then again, I haven’t seen amnesiac Barry and Captain Cold together.”

“I’m not surprised and I hate it. This,” Joe starts. He stands up from the couch and strides over to Barry and Len, “is done.”

“Dad,” Iris says, standing from her recliner and gliding over to Joe, placing a palm on his shoulder, “Hear them out. Let’s ask them some questions. Get a feel for their relationship.”

“This is insane,” Joe replies. He shakes his head and chuckles in disbelief but lets Iris guide him back to the couch. He plops down and Iris returns to her chair, much daintier and elegant in her descent, “Well? Speak.”

“Is it really like this all the time with you two? The sap? The compliments? The incessant touching?” Iris asks. She narrows her eyes, clasps her hands together over her bent, crossed legs, “I mean, when we’re not around, of course.”

“Len?” Barry asks, turning his head to look at the older man. He removes a hand from his pocket to lock their fingers together. Len flinches at the contact but doesn’t push Barry away. He knows that the gazes of Barry’s family are burning holes into him even if he’s staring through them as if they’re ghosts. He nods at no one in particular.

“We’ve should’ve seen this coming, Dad,” Iris says, tone expressing her inquisitive nature, “He stopped tripping over himself around me. He kept pushing for Leonard to change, for us to _see_ how Leonard has changed.”

“If you love me, you guys will try to understand this,” Barry says, confidence shining in his eyes and the strong jut of his jaw. He’s looking straight into Joe’s eyes, “You’ll try to accept it.”

Len looks up at Barry’s family and friends. One by one, they nod despite their skeptical expressions. Joe is the last to nod, the most hesitant, looking between Barry and Len repeatedly before he does so.

* * *

 

It’s Christmas Eve and Barry’s memories have been screwed for two weeks now. He’s still doing Flash business to the best of his ability, with his superhero—and villain—friends constantly watching over him. Tonight Barry is off duty. He’s sitting in Len’s lap sideways, legs dangling onto the hideous purple cushions of their loveseat.

“Why aren’t we married yet?”

Len chokes on his hot chocolate, spluttering specks onto their carnation pink rug. When he recovers enough, he says, “We’ve only been together for a year.”

“Okay. So why aren’t we at least engaged? It’s got to be my longest relationship ever...I think.”

“It’s definitely mine,” Len admits. He taps Barry’s knees twice and Barry gets the message, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch to stand. Len puts his mug on the table and scoots over to make room for Barry. Barry plops down beside him, tossing his sock clad feet onto Len’s lap, “If I was going to propose, I’m not going to now. Not with _this_ as our new normal.”

“Why though? Why don’t you want to?”

“I never said that. I just can’t.”

“Did normal me know that? That you couldn’t?”

“No,” Len says, wrapping his slender fingers around Barry’s bare ankles, “We never talked about it.”

“Why?”

“Maybe normal you didn’t want it.”

“That can’t be true,” Barry says, turning to look at the strobing lights adorning their Christmas tree. Len hadn’t originally wanted to put it up and Barry couldn’t fathom why. They’re great at festive decorating. The tree is gorgeous. He knows, somehow, that it’s their first Christmas together. Why wouldn’t Len want to celebrate it? Barry looks back at him, “Do you love me? Normal me?”

“Of course I do. I could even accept starting over with this you.”

“Then why didn’t you plan on proposing? Why didn’t you want to celebrate Christmas with me? Did normal me have the answers?”

Len can feel frustration burning up his chest and neck, coiling hot and abusive in his stomach, turning his hands into balls of hatred. He squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth, and breathes deep. He’s going to calm himself, he’s not going to be...he’s not going to hurt someone he loves just because he’s annoyed.

“No,” Len starts when he’s recomposed. He opens his eyes and sighs, “Normal you didn’t know. I’m about to tell you some things, and I don’t know if you’ll remember them if—when—you wake up, but here it goes...

“My mom died around Christmas a long time ago and Lewis,” Len pauses at the confused look on Barry’s face, “Daddy dearest. He wasn’t the same without her. Nothing was. He changed. Crooked cop by day, abusive father by night. He learned that nothing good can come of good intentions so he just...gave up.

“I didn’t get to go to school. I was taught early on how to help him. Lisa at least got to go to school like a normal kid but Lewis hated her even more than he hated me. Everything she did earned her some kind of punishment. It took me a while, but I finally learned how to cover her tracks, clean up her messes, or redirect his hate to me. Twice the pain, no gain.”

Barry covers his eyes with the soft ends of his sleeves, “What happened after that? There’s gotta be a happy ending. How did you two get out alive?”

“I stuck around until Lisa was eighteen. I got her away. Neither of us went to college so we did what we knew best,” Len exhales noisily. His hands come up to cradle his face, “I hate that I became Lewis and I’m not gonna marry you, lose you, and become even more like him.”

“I knew your life was hard but, Jesus Christ, I didn’t know it was that bad,” Barry says, eloquently, after moving the fabric from his face to look at Len. Len snorts and the pair lock eyes, “With the way you talk about me, I’m going to choose to believe that I’d never be with someone like Lewis. So you’re not. Like him, I mean.”

Len shakes his head, a rueful expression distorting his beautiful face. Barry’s nose scrunches up. He doesn’t know enough about his old relationship with Len, but he does know that new him hates any time that face looks sad. So he’s going assume that old him hated it too.

Barry climbs into Len’s lap, straddling it. He wraps his arms around Len’s neck, “Ask me to marry you.”

“Bossy.”

“Don’t deflect. Ask.”

“You can’t know if you actually want to marry me. You have amnesia, Scarlet.”

“Well I want to marry you and I’m _technically_ the same person, so.”

“Will you...marry...me?” Len asks, grimacing.

“Okay. Ouch. Like you mean it, please.”

“I don’t have a ring. This would be the worst proposal ever.”

“What good would an engagement ring do? Maybe it would just turn to ash, or scald me, or get lost or damaged during a Flash fight.”

“You’re pushing so hard for this.”

Barry leans away from Len without clambering off of him. He puts a fair distance between them so he can gaze into Len’s eyes, “Do you love me or not?”

“I do.”

“Say it.”

“I love you,” Len says without hesitation. Barry gasps, eyes sparkling. He leans in to kiss Len and Len lets him. It’s long, open mouthed, lips slotting together, tongues sliding against each other. It’s more than anything Barry’s tried thus far. A slice of normal Barry. Familiar. Home.

“Now say the other thing,” Barry prompts.

Dazed, eyes still closed from when they fluttered shut, Len asks, “Will you marry me?”

“Now this time, I believe you,” Barry smirks. He turns serious after a moment and pretends to think, but he can’t keep his blindingly joyous smile at bay for too long, “Yes.”

* * *

It’s Christmas morning. Barry wakes up with dry throat and curses his own mouth breathing. He moves to get out of bed but an arm across his bare back holds him down. Surprised, he turns his head to the side, focus coming to rest on Len’s face. Len takes this opportunity to wake up and surge his naked form away from Barry’s. Guilt pulses, icy and dreadful, through his veins, into his heart.

“Holy shit, I actually got to spend Christmas Eve with you,” Barry starts, but Len isn’t sure he’s hearing right. After all, Barry’s dropped his face back into the pillow and his voice is muffled. Barry’s face is adorned with a dopey grin, though, when he turns to Len and says, “And did you fucking propose? Wowowow.”

“Barry?”

“Yes, Len?”

“Are you...back to normal?”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you have _all_ of your memories back?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Barry says, turning onto his side and hooking a leg over Len’s thigh, “Wait. Did you have sex with amnesiac me?”

“Yes,” Len answers, grimacing, eyes squeezed shut.

“How did that happen?” Barry asks. He doesn’t seem upset, so Len opens his eyes back up and tilts his head to look at Barry, who’s worming his way closer to place his chin on Len’s shoulder. He’s staring up at Len with big, heartbreakingly hopeful eyes.

“All it takes is one ‘I love you’ and your clothes take themselves off.”

Barry smacks at Len’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Len exclaims in pain and chuckles, but his relieved smile exposes the solemnity of the moment.

* * *

Later, everyone comes to Len and Barry’s place to open gifts. The couple makes one great announcement and one (probably) unwanted announcement: Barry is back to normal and they’re getting married. Everyone cheers for the first announcement. At the second, Lisa cheers— unabashed—while Iris and Caitlin give them a small smile. Cisco walks over to them and pulls them into a group hug. Len feigns annoyance when Cisco pulls away to beam at them.

Len glances over at Joe, praying that he effectively masks his own hope. Joe doesn’t appear pleased at the news, but he’s not constipated about it either. He gives Len a hard, inspecting glare before throwing him one little nod of approval. It’s not what Len wanted but he’ll take it.

“Now what?” Lisa asks Len after all the commotion is over. The siblings are watching Barry hand a pristinely wrapped gift over to Joe with an honest smile and the hint of a blush.

“Get my GED. Get married. Adopt some kids,” He replies without taking his eyes off of Barry. He can sense Lisa’s surprised, but happy, look. The way she’s staring at him in amazement.

“Like I told you our whole lives, Lenny,” Lisa pauses, waiting to earn Len’s attention, “You’re a good man. You just needed someone to show you the way.”


End file.
